


Be My Dar(jee)ling

by inkpink



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Chipotle, Eridan vs Everyone, Erimint Ampora, F/F, F/M, Faygo, Fefertea Peixes, Fish Puns, Gamzee Matchakara, John vs Cake, Kanaya is Abraham Lincoln, Karkomile Vantas, Kombucha Maryam, Nunu the Vacuum, Rooibos Lalonde, Rosemary With a Side of Shenanigans, Swearing?, Vriska is a Small Business Owner, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6269056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkpink/pseuds/inkpink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Generally when you tell someone you're a little stressed, they don't return the next day with a notepad and their Psychology textbook. (Coffee Shop AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. English Breakfast, Mexican Lunch

Kanaya enlists Feferi to make Mr. Zahhak’s STRONG coffee for a variety of reasons, chiefly among them being that she’d rather not deal with the man’s elitist small talk. His robotics business had been fairly interesting the first time she’d served him, but his orders now seem to consist less of coffee and more of claims of his own superiority. It reminds her of someone else she sees on a daily basis - three someones, actually - which is another reason that she races to the cash register when the shopkeeper’s bell on the door jingles in greeting. 

The prospect of a new customer being faced with Eridan or Karkat is potentially disastrous, not that unfamiliar faces wander in all that often. The perks of living in a small town, she supposes. There’s an alternating, albeit familiar cast of characters: the stoic businessman who glances at his Rolex while Kanaya rings up his apple juice, the pink-spectacled girl who speaks in fish puns so elaborate that even Feferi can’t follow, the skinny, sallow-faced guy who orders a half-full double-shot and a Red Bull, then mixes them at the little table heavy-laden with cream and Coffee-Mate®. Every so often that greaser kid and what Vriska refers to as his “hot dad” wander in. She’s personally never found 5 o’clock shadows and the ghost of some war scars attractive, but that may simply be her lesbian instincts kicking in. 

Oh. Dear. It seems Kanaya has gotten lucky today, as a girl she’s never seen before has just floated to the front of the shop. Her features are unorthodox, but not unappealing. Stark, if anything. A study in monochrome. Platinum blonde hair brushes the soft line of her jaw. An attempt at holding it in place takes the form of a black headband - the cheap, plastic kind sold at CVS in packs of three. Blacker eyeliner rings eyes so blue they first appear purple. A pink scarf with a hue identical to the flush of her cheeks is bundled tightly around her neck, but the cold weather is not why Kanaya’s suddenly out of breath.

Her customer is waiting patiently, plum wallet already in hand.

“Doing well today?” Kanaya musters, words coming clear due to the frequency with which she asks this question. The girl’s coal-dark lips bloom into a small smile.  
“Decent enough. And you?”

This only catches Kanaya further off guard, as she’s not used to receiving much more than a grunt in reply. She flashes her a smile that she hopes doesn’t look too strained.

“A little stressed, but nothing out of the ordinary. Will that be all?” She makes a vague, jittery gesture at the bags of almonds the girl has piled on the counter.  
“Oh, no. I’ll be needing one English Breakfast tea, a pumpkin spice latte, an apple juice, a black coffee, and…” She pauses to study the dessert display. 

Kanaya can hear Feferi bellowing “ZAHHAK!” when she places his coffee on the counter, but the rest of the world feels far away as she strains to catch the tail-end of the girl’s order. “One Birthday Cake Pop.” The words are phrased like a private joke, and a little part of Kanaya burns when she realizes that she shouldn't just be standing here. She has a job.

Oh my God, why isn't she saying something? Why isn't she saying anything?

It’s infuriating, the effect pretty girls have on her.

For once in his life, Eridan proves useful. He emerges from the shadows near the blender just in time and begins to moodily shove a cookie into a bag. Any longer, and Kanaya might have died of embarrassment at her own frozen state.

“She said Cake Pop,” Kanaya clarifies, and he mutters something that any decent employee would report as abuse. 

“What was the name on that?” Feferi chirps, black Sharpie poised over a disposable cup.  
“Why don’t you write-” Eridan begins to sneer, but the girl in question cuts him off before he can finish.  
“It’s Rose,” she says smoothly, like her beverages weren’t almost just emblazoned with the words ‘goddamn shitty witch shrew.’

Eridan’s been on the verge of a breakdown all morning, and Kanaya’s sure that Rose, whoever she may be, has no desire to see a grumpy barista burst into tears all over her order. Nor that anyone else does, for that matter. There used to be a running tally on the break room whiteboard of how many times Eridan broke into frustrated tears at work, but Feferi made Karkat erase it to avoid its discovery upping the number to a nice, round 20.

Eridan opts instead to storm off to the back room, leaving Kanaya to bag up one of the little pink pops. It’s probably for the better that way. She nestles the little brown bag into an empty divot on the drink tray and hands it to Rose with a smile that feels painted on.

“Thank you, Miss...” the girl begins, voice wandering like she’s misplaced something. If she’s looking for Kanaya’s last name, she must know that she’s not going to find it on her nametag.  
“Maryam,” Kanaya supplies. It’s a curious request, even when phrased indirectly. Rose forks over a five and a ten, and Kanaya thinks she sees a flash of needles when she slings her lilac bag over her shoulder. She squares her shoulders, pushes through the crowd scrambling to get served before Eridan reappears, and disappears.  
“Just a minute, you forgot your-” Kanaya calls, but Rose has already vanished.  
She’s left with a handful of change and a strange humming in her chest, like her heart is trying to follow Rose out the door.

Behind her, Kanaya can make out the opening strains of conflict. Eridan arguing with a customer, no doubt. Her suspicions are confirmed when she turns to find him interrogating a kid around 15 about the complexity of his drink order.

“I don’t see why you can’t just order somethin’ else. Do you really need that soy shot? I don’t think so!” Eridan exclaims.  
The customer in question, a blonde boy with spiky shades, sighs and rakes a hand through his gravity-defying hair.  
She should probably deal with this.

*****

It’s one o’clock in the afternoon by the time things finally start winding down. The businesspeople are all in their cubicles. The seniors’ lunch break is over. Karkat is wiping the counter down while Feferi hums and pretends she didn’t just slip a tearful little girl a free cookie. Eridan is clattering around by the french press and Kanaya is sure that Vriska went to the Chipotle down the street for her lunch break. She should be on hers too, but she’s in the middle of restocking spice shakers and keeps getting distracted by...Slurp.

There it is again! A sloppy, spitty, and uncomfortably graphic sipping sound. She scans the misfit collection of faux-leather armchairs and polyester poufs for the source of the noise and-  
Oh.

Her eyes lock on the same homeless guy who turns up every day. He’s sucking a blueberry smoothie down, presumably given to him by Karkat, at a speed that would make the vacuum from Teletubbies jealous. His wild black hair has been smothered by a purple stocking cap. The stubble on his jaw looks greasier than his gap-toothed smile in what could be perceived as her general vicinity. Kanaya chooses to ignore it.

“Hey, Sis. What’s all up and motherfuckin’ kickin’ in this joint?” he calls. “Karbro hooked me up with this wicked smoothie. Like a motherfuckin’ miracle, aye Sis?”

This, too, she chooses to ignore. Vriska would kick him out in a heartbeat if she were here - she claims the guy is bad for business, and besides, he reeks of weed - but Kanaya decides to leave him alone for the time being. This is by no means to say that she isn't going to broach the topic with Karkat as soon as he makes his way over to her stretch of countertop.

It doesn't take long. His little red rag is wiping double-time, which she takes as a sign to be more careful with how she phrases things than normal.  
“Hey, Karkat?” she begins conversationally.  
“What?” he spits.  
Whoa. Her friend usually sounds like an alley cat with laryngitis, thanks to what he refers to as “a really fucking terrible cough” when he was younger, but he sounds downright furious right now. She decides to forge ahead nonetheless.

“That guy.”  
He whirls around.  
“What guy?”  
“Whoa, Kar, cool it with the whole ‘fearsome asshole’ schtick. Kan’s just makin’ conversation.” Eridan sidles up from behind her, trailing the scent of his patented raspberry-mocha-caramel-wheatgrass latte.  
“Anyone know where Fef went?” His smirking upper lip is smudged with whipped cream.  
“Cleaning the bathroom!” floats from the back of the shop.  
“Oh. Gross.” His words are accompanied by a shudder worthy of a guy who’s dad is an aquarium tycoon. Kanaya doubts Eridan’s ever cleaned something in his life.  
“Eridan, Kanaya and I were just having a private conversation. Can you momentarily not be a douchebag and give us some time to finish this?” Karkat growls.  
Eridan puts a hand on the shorter guy’s shoulder, and Karkat puffs up like an alley cat. Kanaya barrels on before he has the chance to start hissing.  
“That guy over there. The one with the knitted hat and poor hygiene. I don't think it beneficial to either of you for you to continue funneling him free drinks,” she says, choosing her words carefully.  
“Yeah, Kar. Stop givin’ freebies to stoners. It’s makin’ everyone uncomfortable.”

Karkat goes ballistic.  
“All he gets is Faygo, Kanaya! The only nutrition in that shit is cancer! Do you want him to fucking die?”  
“I’m no doctor, but I don't think terminal illness is considered nutrition,” Eridan snarks.  
“You!” Karkat crows, whirling around and grabbing a fistful of Eridan’s black polo. “You complete fu-”  
Eridan’s shriek of fear drowns out a veritable rainbow of obscenities as Karkat attempts to pin him against the cash register. It happens too fast for her to grab ahold of Karkat, who now appears to be testing just how purple he can bruise Eridan’s cheekbone.

“Boys!”  
Just in time. Vriska can be pretentious, blunt, and much too cruel for Kanaya’s taste, but this café wouldn't survive without her.  
She tosses her brown doggy bag on a nearby table and stalks over to the brawling duo. The chips inside crunch against polished wood.  
“What the hell is going on here? I leave for half an hour and you two decide that it’s a perfect time to start trying to kill each other? Oh my God!”

Eridan and Karkat spring apart, Karkat looking slightly less enraged and more pleased with himself and Eridan wheezing loudly. 

Feferi appears at Vriska’s side, reeled in by the noise and the commotion. 

“I hate to take a side here, but Erifin has a point. Cancer is not nutritious.”  
Feferi’s med school aspirations are the only thing that makes the joke vaguely humorous. “However, that’s hardly an excuse to whale on him.”  
Kanaya smiles weakly at her fish pun. She really should stop encouraging her.

“I’m reportin’ this to Human Resources,” Eridan sniffs dramatically. “Kar just triggered my childhood asthma. I could have died!”  
“We’re independently run, Ampora. If you want to file a complaint, the head of the department is standing right next to you,” Vriska replies.  
“The guy who just physically assaulted me is head a’ Human Resources? Vris, even you gotta admit that’s fucked up!”  
“That’s life,” she mutters. “Karkat, I’d fire you and ship your ass back to Cali if I could, but I really can't afford it.”  
“I’m from Pennsylvania!” Karkat says.  
“I’m from California!” Eridan croaks.  
“Who cares!” Vriska says, drawing the words out to make them even more patronizing.  
“I’m from Florida!” Feferi says, then adds “Not that that matters much.”  
“I am from New York, though I don't think it pertinent to the conversation at the moment,” Kanaya says softly.  
“I brought back chips for you guys! Chips! For a bunch of bickering schmucks. You know what, I’m going to eat all these fucking chips myself.”  
“Hey, I want a-”  
“Shut it, Ampora. On second thought, Feferi, would you like a chip?”  
“Uh, sure.”  
“And Kanaya?”  
“I’m fine, thank you.”  
“Can I have Kan’s chip?”  
“No Eridan, you cannot have a fucking chip! Everyone gets a chip except you and Karkat. That’s the whole point.”  
“What the fuck kind of mind game is that?!” Karkat roars.  
Vriska’s hands fly to her temples.  
“Everyone go home! Just go! I’ll see you all at 5:00 AM tomorrow for a team meeting.”  
“Uh, Vris, tomorrow’s Saturday.”  
“So?”  
“I, uh...Actually you know what, nevermind. I love Saturday mornings. Saturday mornings are the shit.”  
“Wonderful,” she says drily. “I’m so glad a menial job such as this can be accommodated by your busy schedule.”  
“No, we fucking can’t! Saturday mornings are shit!” Karkat howls. He looks like he’s about to throw a temper tantrum. His hand is dangerously close to the nozzle of a whipped cream canister.  
“What do you have going on?”  
“Dissecting my small intestine with a spaghetti fork. Castrating myself. Plucking my luxurious, bushy eyebrows out hair by hair, then knitting a tiny sweater out of them. Literally anything besides seeing you guys that early.”  
“It seems you will have to pursue those activities in our unbearable company, Karkat. I do apologize for your misfortune,” Kanaya says. 

Vriska’s earlier admission of freedom turns out to be a bluff, as the shop is far too little and underrated to do things like send all the employees home just as the after-school rush rolls in. Karkat is banished to the back room to wash spare blender parts for his bad behavior, which only puts him in a worse mood. Eridan sweeps the tiny 3-by-4 patio area for nearly an hour on the claim that “It is really fuckin’ dirty, okay?” Feferi works her magic with latte art at the messy drink station. Her biggest fan, a slight British girl with green eyes, always asks for the same swirly lollipop design.  
Kanaya is stuck, as usual, at the cash register. By the time she tells a GameGrl-toting teenager, albeit in hushed tones, that no, they do not sell alcoholic beverages here at Arachne’s Ambrosia, she is ready to ask for one herself.  
That probably wouldn't be a good idea though, seeing as how she never had lunch. The only thing worse than being here in general would be being here drunk.

They’re usually open until 8 on Fridays, but Vriska claims a migraine and shuts down at 5. Kanaya suspects that it may have more to do with a certain exasperated phone call to her sister at around 4. Aranea knows just how to push her buttons.

Though Kanaya returns to her cramped apartment with every intention of using the extra time to work on her design-school portfolio, progress evades her. She sketches until well past midnight, mind whirring in a palette of lavender and grisaille. Something feels off about each piece. The swirls of black are too dreary, the purple too garish, and she has absolutely no idea what inspired her to stick pink tassels on a flared skirt like that. The drawings are utterly foreign when compared to the rest of her collection, mostly 20s-inspired gowns in shades of jade and crimson. 

It is only when she realizes that each sketched model possesses a blonde bob and curling pitch lips that she tosses her sketchbook aside and calls it a night.


	2. Lady Jade, Lady Violet

Kanaya’s alarm goes off five minutes late the next morning. Barely conscious, she stumbles out of bed and into the shower, hissing when light from the window hits her bleary eyes. This reaction strikes her as positively vampiric, but a nice, quiet crypt would be more than preferable to enduring endless bickering in a room smelling of coffee grounds and minimum wage.

Vriska is a hot mess, and Kanaya’s no doubt that she was out last night partying it up with her on-again-off-again roomate/girlfriend, Terezi. The distinctly foot-shaped bruise across her collarbone makes her suspect that they were up to childish activities, such as toilet-papering Aradia Megido’s family home - again - and subsequently engaging in a fierce battle with...each other? It can’t be the strangest thing Kanaya’s ever heard from the duo. Whatever the case, Vriska certainly looks the worse for wear. Remnants of cerulean eyeliner are smudged across her lower lash line in a way that makes her look deceptively more tired than she’s acting, and the remnants of a hangover are manifested in a few choice words to Feferi. 

“I just cannot - and I mean can _ not _ \- believe that you would patronize the competition! Are you trying to sabotage this company? Would you rather work at airhead Nepeta’s ‘purrfect’ Pretty Kitty Café?” Her teased black ponytail is stiff with hairspray, and it bobs with each rude question she asks. “These breakfast pastries are  _ treason _ , Feferi, and I will not stand for it!”

Feferi’s hands fly up in exasperation. The movement is only accentuated by the crowd of neon jelly bracelets adorning her wrists. 

“You’re being ridiculous! I just figured that a few muffins and cookies would make this meeting a little more bearable for everyone. Besides, if we ate any of the stuff here, you’d berate us for ‘schmoozing’ or ‘inventory nicking’.”

The girl more accurately described as a ray of sunshine is worlds away from her usual cheery self. She’s clutching a grande macchiato like maybe she’ll drown in it before having to parry another one of Vriska’s jibes. The dark roots of her pastel-pink hair are greasy, a feature highlighted by the garish blue and green headband buried in the curly mess. 

The bag of feline-themed treats on the table is a terribly nice gesture on Feferi’s part, but Vriska does not take kindly to them purchasing things from the far more successful bakery a few blocks down.

Kanaya decides that it’s time to jump to Feferi’s defense.

“Vriska, it is utterly abhorrent of you to belittle Feferi for making efforts to help,” she says. “Clearly, she was only trying to brighten the mood.”

Vriska's blinks at her for a moment, then sinks into a chair.

“Kanaya.  _ Please.  _ Speak like a normal person for once in your life. And can someone get me a glass of water?”

No one obliges. 

Karkat looks, in all senses of the phrase, dead inside. His complexion is so pallid as to seem grey under the staff room’s cheap fluorescent lights. His auburn hair appears to have been the testing site for a nuclear bomb. Dark circles cling to his under eyes, clear evidence of his oft-denied night job as a teen-club bouncer. Though it doesn’t seem so from his short stature, Karkat can certainly pack a punch. 

Speaking of punches, the one he gave Eridan yesterday is now a green-tinged violet. Yuck. 

The rest of Eridan is infuriatingly well-groomed, hair sculpted with enough gel to make a fuckboy weep. No wonder he was complaining about getting here so early - it must take him hours to style that monstrosity. He’s also strangely apparelled, even for Kanaya’s taste. The black shirt is fine, and the scarf layered over it appears to be remarkably well-made. She strongly doubts it is original work, however: A boy who gets distracted pouring water into a cup certainly does not have the patience to knit. His outfit is dominated by a pair of royal blue and black striped skinny jeans. The overall look is nauseatingly chaotic. She adds ‘ _ clashing _ ’ to her mental list of things Eridan is capable of doing successfully. 

“Nepeta’s place is called Kittens and Cream, not the Pretty Kitty Café.” Karkat says, breaking the silence. Rising this early has probably jolted him back to his grade school years, and now he’s hoping to up his participation grade and go home.

Vriska raises her head from her hands and fixes him with the eyes of a dead man.

“Do I  _ look like _ I give a fuck?”

“That sounds kinda pornographic to me,” Eridan mutters. 

“Everything sounds pornographic to you, you haven't gotten laid in 5 years.” Kanaya’s not sure how Karkat knows that, but it’s not hard to believe. Eridan must take a special mind to appreciate. The kind of mind that can finance the astronomical cost of his military reenactment hobby, and that can withstand massive amounts of what Feferi calls ‘carping.’

At Kanaya’s raised eyebrow, he sputters “The name of the café, not Vris’s capability of givin’ a fuck. Things that don't exist can't be pornographic.”

“Yes they can, you ignorant fuckwit. Have you never-”

“ _ Did I not state my lack of fucks to give quite loud enough for all of you morons? _ ” Vriska barks. Karkat falls silent. 

“I’m just sayin’ it sounds like one of those Japanese maid cafés. You know the ones, right Kar?” 

Karkat growls out a combination of genitals, slang, and remarks about Eridan’s late mother. Eridan’s lip twitches, but he doesn't falter in his attempts to be understood. “Kan?”

“I cannot profess that I am well-acquainted with the subject matter that you are currently discussing,” she replies, mustering the biggest words that can come to her this early so as to avoid speaking to him again.

“Fef?” 

She shakes her head weakly.

The bell on the door jingles, and Vriska glares murderously in its direction. 

“Someone. Get behind the counter.  _ Now. _ ”

Kanaya doesn't know who runs fastest.

*****

Rose is back. She’s dressed appropriately for the October weather in a filmy black sweater and jeans. When she parks herself and her radiation-green laptop at a table conveniently close to the cash register Kanaya’s manning, she notices that Rose has also donned a pair of lavender fingerless gloves, the likes of which she hasn't seen since the 80s. Rose pauses and glances out the window. Kanaya’s never seen someone look so pixieish in misty morning light. 

“Kan, could you quit salivatin’ for like two seconds and start pourin’ that coffee? We’re kinda in the weeds here.”

Eridan’s voice bursts her bubble more effectively than one of the off-brand coffee stirrers Vriska gets from Dollar General.  

“I am not ‘salivating’,” she protests. “Merely lost in thought.”

“Thought about that sweet broad you’ve been makin’ eyes at for the last minute an’ a half?” he antagonizes. 

“Eridan, don't you have something better to do than harass me? A job, perhaps?”

“Don’t you?”

It takes herculean effort to dispel the urge to dump the hot coffee in her hands on his hideous hair.

After three days of watching Rose peck at keys directly in front of her, Kanaya builds up the nerve to walk over. She means to be suave and strike up a conversation, but the first thing that comes out of her mouth is 

“You forgot your change.”

“Hm?” Rose flicks her eyes from her computer screen and fixes Kanaya with a gaze that is uncomfortably rapt. Kanaya tries not to look too much like a deer caught in headlights as she gathers the courage to not say something idiotic. 

"On Friday, when you first came in. You left before I could give you your change.”

Ugh, is she the 16th president of the United States? No one besides Honest Abe would go to such lengths to return some change. Kanaya berates her lack of intelligence as Rose gives a little cough into her tea. Look, the second-hand embarrassment is so strong that she has made the girl physically ill. What is going on with her. 

Longingly, she reflects on her older sister Porrim, who possesses a brevity that she herself lacks. Kanaya usually doesn’t mind being as verbose as she is, but it’s humiliating to stand by and watch her make a fool out of herself.  

Kanaya’s eyes must be playing tricks on her, because when Rose looks back up at her, she’s smiling. 

“Consider it payment for excellent service,” Rose replies. 

“Are you quite sure? The cash register is right over there, it would be no trouble to return what’s owed to you,” Kanaya attempts. There’s a desperate edge to her voice that makes her think if she were Rose, she would be phoning Human Resources. It’s doubtful that said Human Resources would pick up until he finished slinging suds at Eridan, though the two of them should be washing dishes.

“Hm,” she says again, a clear C. Her fingers drum the side of her laptop. “I don't mean to sound pretentious, but would you consider doing me another favor instead?”

Alright, scratch pretentious, this could get creepy. ‘Another favor’ could range from making her a free coffee to assisting in the neutering of her cat. Kanaya should say no. 

Wait, no, she should say  _ conditionally _ no. That way she doesn't have to outright refuse, and can avoid any unnecessary surgeries on feline genitalia. Excellent plan.

Wait,  _ no _ , she should say “I apologize, Rose, but I think it wise for me to attain more background information before making a blind foray into assisting you.” Yes, that’s definitely it. Nothing conveys her meaning like a grandiloquent variant of her original thoughts.

_ Wait,  _ **_no_ ** , she thought she was done being circumlocutory today! 

Why the  _ hell _ did she just use the word circumlocutory? 

The fraction of Kanaya’s brain that remains sane in Rose’s presence forces her to nod tightly at Rose, who gestures for her to sit.

“You mentioned the last time I was here that you were a little stressed?”

Kanaya nods again. Her hands are distressingly clammy. She hopes Rose doesn’t ask to read her palm. Or shake her hand. Or ask what color nail polish she’s wearing (OPI’s Jade is the New Black.)

“Well, I was thinking we could talk about it.” 

Kanaya must look as confused as she feels, because Rose’s following sentence contains considerably less annunciation than before.

“I’m a Psychology major, and I’d like to gain some more experience before I graduate. I’ve been interning at a clinic for three summers now, I assure you-”

“You want me to talk about how I’m stressed?” Kanaya asks, still feeling sure that she’s missed something. Rose lets out a small whoosh of air.

“Yes.”

*****

They begin to talk about Rose only after a solid week of professional examination, during which something of a routine is established. Rose arrives around 10:00, and works on papers or socks or whatever it is that haunts her 100k doc about Zazzerpan the Learned until Kanaya gets off for her lunch break at 11:30.

Today, she finds her thumbing through a black book, which Rose shuts in a flurry of cryptic symbols when Kanaya takes a seat across from her.

“What’s that?” she inquires, the item piquing her curiosity but not wanting to overstep her boundaries. 

“A grimoire.” Rose appears incredibly relaxed as she slides the book back into one of her many bags, burying it beneath two amethyst balls of yarn. A laugh burbles out of Kanaya. 

“Truly?” The very idea of it seems preposterous, not to mention slightly frightening. Kanaya’s not as big on superstition as, say, Eridan and Vriska, but she’d still rather not meddle with anything ensconced in that tome. 

Rose twists to rummage through her bags again, this time withdrawing the massive Psychology textbook and yellow pad of paper that Kanaya has grown used to seeing in her hands. 

“I don’t make a habit of telling lies.”

“I was not implying that you did. You fancy yourself a witch?” Rose smiles softly.

“A scientist. An enthusiast. A Seer, if you will.”

“Curious.”

“Not very. People so often predict the future, without even realizing they’re doing it. I simply interpret the patterns. It’s a hobby of mine to pick apart the thoughts of others.” They sit in silence for a moment. Kanaya’s fingers tighten around her cup. “For example,” Rose begins, somewhat hesitantly, “you must think me incredibly strange.” 

Kanaya glances up at her. It is a rare break in composure for Rose to admit that anything she does is strange, though it is rarer still for Rose to do something conventionally.

“Not strange, no. A bit peculiar, perhaps.”

“Miss Maryam, those words mean exactly the same thing,” she replies. Her tone stays the same, but now there’s a teasing curl to her voice. Chiding, almost.

Rose returns the next day, and the next, until it’s an oddity not to see her parked at the little bistro table by the window by mid-morning. She types or reads and occasionally stares out one of said foggy windows, mug of Earl Grey steaming into cold. They gradually learn each other's schedules - Kanaya doesn’t work Tuesdays or Wednesdays, Rose never arrives before 10. The psychoanalysis aspect of what they have, something Kanaya is hesitant to call a relationship, never fades completely. 

It is the Thursday before Halloween when Kanaya first broaches the subject of Gamzee.

"He...gives me a bad feeling," she admits, tugging at the string of her Raspberry Rooibos. Rose nods. “Look at him, just sitting in the back like that. What does he want?” They both stare for a moment at Gamzee’s blank, sated expression. He’s humming to himself, something that could pass for either the Pokémon theme or the opening strains of Beethoven’s 5th.

“Another smoothie, I’d wager.”

Kanaya can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling she gets whenever he’s here. Gamzee makes her skin crawl.

“Do you want to get out of here? Go get lunch or something?”

“Can you do that?”

“Feferi and Eridan have a bad habit of going to Petco on their breaks and not returning for hours. I’m sure Vriska wouldn’t begrudge me a jaunt down the street.”

“Feferi is the cheerful, pink one, right?”

“Yes, and Eridan is her bitter, freckly shadow,” Kanaya says wearily. “There is rarely one without the other.”

“Might I be  _ your _ bitter, freckly shadow?” Rose teases as they walk the two blocks to Panera. Kanaya lets out a puff of breath.

“You are indeed freckly, but I find you lack the sheer animosity for life that Eridan does. Besides, Feferi has a monopoly on the ‘cheerful, pink’ label.”

“Perhaps you’re the shadow, then.”

“Your shadow is an awful lot taller than you are, Miss Lalonde.” The end slips out of her, but she can tell Rose is pleased by the quirk of her eyebrow and how quickly she retorts. 

“My shadow also appears to have a much bigger mouth than I do.” 

“Science is indeed amazing,” Kanaya says solemnly.

*****

The following Monday, Kanaya presents Rose with a jewel. She slides her sketchbook, black and heavy-bound, across the table’s crumb-coated surface. Rose’s black fingernails are only minutely darker than Kanaya’s revamped collection. Her smile grows wider and wider as she flips through the pages, until she’s grinning like a prophet faced with the Messiah.

“These are lovely.” 

“I’ve had some new inspiration as of late,” Kanaya flirts outrageously.

Rose is still fixed on the pages of ink and charcoal.

“They speak volumes about your psyche, to be honest. This is a veritable gold mine. If you look at the curve of the lines on this dress-”

“Rose,” she attempts.

“And the writing on this one. Is that Arabic?” Her words sound uncomfortably awed.

“Urdu. But listen, Rose-”

“You speak Urdu?” Rose’s gaze is bright enough to blind. 

“My family’s from Pakistan. That doesn’t-”

She isn’t sure when Rose started writing, but her hand is now moving frantically against her notepad. Streams of black script devour yellow pages twice as fast as one could hope to speak. If Rose’s thoughts move that quickly, color her intrigued. 

Rose pauses momentarily.

“Can you tell me what they mean?”

Kanaya stops in her tracks, word dying in her throat. She’s so nauseatingly embarrassed that she’s no doubt her blush appears slightly green.

“They’re words of affection.”

“A love letter?”

“That would be a more concise way of putting it,” Kanaya admits.

At least Rose has the decency not to ask who they are for. Kanaya might’ve had to blend _ her _ hand off out of desperation if she’d been made to confess that every character was written for the girl sitting feet away from her. 

“And this one?” Rose’s pale finger rests on a mercilessly complex ballgown in shades of violet and heather. “It reminds me of dreaming.”

“There’s a variant of that in yellow, if you flip a tad further,” Kanaya ventures.

“No, I have a fondness for purple.

“That’s just as well, then. It suits you.”

Without warning, a dark shadow descends upon their table. A dark shadow that smells of expensive cologne, sea-salt texturizing spray, and sickly-sweet wheatgrass. Mother of-

“Kan, I  _ swear to cod _ \- I mean, God - if you don't get your filthy connivin’ ass back behind that counter, I will personally flip my shit,” Eridan whines.

“Eridan, I really do not think now is the time for one of your silly tangents,” Kanaya replies, attempting to keep her cool. Eridan’s outbursts are generally more humorous than vexing, but today was going so well. “Besides, I am on my lunch break.”

“We are backed the fuck up! Vris says your lunch break don't matter if one a’ us decides to blend our hands off outta desperation.”

“You’ve got enough of that,” Kanaya mutters.

“Are you the one who threatened to blend off a limb?” Rose asks. Eridan’s expression goes sour. Or at least, more sour than usual.

“That’s none a’ your coddamn -  _ I MEAN GOD _ \- damn business, you villainous pile a’ trash.”

“ _ Eridan! _ ” Feferi scolds, and his ears turn bright red. “Stay away from poor Kanaya! Can't you see she’s busy with her new gillfrond?”

“It's not like she doesn't already spend every free minute with her. These fuckin’ fish puns, Fef, I swear to-”

“ _ Cod? _ ” she baits.

“Fef,  _ I have fuckin’ had it! _ ”

He storms off in the direction of the toppings table.

“I do hope he’s not planning on squirting chocolate sauce in her hair. That’s what happened last time. The mess was terrible, and he absolutely refused to help clean up,” Kanaya sighs. Rose laughs then, a clear, tinkling sound that starts as a scoff and ends with a squeaky intake of breath. That was...unexpectedly adorable. 

“I should go anyways,” Rose says, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. “I have a Psych exam at two.”

Something in Kanaya deflates a little, but she stands and helps Rose to gather her things.

“Does the ‘Psych’ ever end?”

“I’m afraid not. It is an endless cycle of drudgery, Freudian slips, and self-realization. 

“Sounds a bit like puberty,” Kanaya quips. Rose laughs again. Kanaya is walking on air. 

The autumn days wax and wane into a November so cold that Karkat is not the only one clad in a turtleneck. Somewhere between Thanksgiving and Christmas, it becomes part of their ritual to swap books. Kanaya lends her Bram Stoker’s  Dracula , and in turn receives a heavily annotated copy of Sigmund Freud’s  The Interpretation of Dreams . On a rainy Friday when Rose fails to show,  The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious by Carl Jung is shoved into her hands by a very pissed-off Karkat. 

“I don't know when I became a carrier pigeon, or when I showed any interest in being involved in your weird, intellectual courtship ritual. If that little shit’s going to use me as a messenger, I’d prefer she chose some decent literature. What’s romantic about some dead guy’s over-analyzation of fucked up human thoughts? Why not Romeo and Juliet?”

“Karkat, you do realize that both of the protagonists of that novel die in the end?”

For her trouble, he slaps  Pride and Prejudice into her hands and warns that she’d better have it read by Monday if she doesn't want to lose his respect forever.

Though the idea of spending hours leafing through 300-something pages of Austen’s heavy prose may sound compelling to Karkat, Kanaya prefers the thought of inviting Rose over to endure the movie with her.

  
  


\--grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 14:25--

GA: Hello Rose

TT: Kanaya.

GA: Would You Like To Come Over And Watch A Movie?

GA: Karkat Has Saddled Me With The Egregious Task Of Reading The Entirety Of Pride And Prejudice In One Weekend

TT: You feel that the two hour movie would be an improvement from this?

GA: I Am Sorry To Say But Yes

GA: It Is The Lesser Of Two Evils

GA: Also The Book Lacks Keira Knightley

TT: I’m afraid that I am currently disgustingly sick.

GA: I Normally Would Not Press The Matter But I Fear That I May Join You In Ill Health If I Am Forced To View Pride And Prejudice Alone

TT: Then I suppose I’ll be there as soon as I can, in the hopes of preventing such an outcome.

GA: Thank You Rose

TT: The pleasure is all mine, Miss Maryam.

 

\--grimAuxiliatrix [GA] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 14:32--

 

Miss Maryam, Miss Maryam, it’s Rose’s favorite private joke.

Rose arrives exactly half an hour after the end of their conversation. She is laden with considerably less bags than usual, this time only toting a wooly messenger bag stuffed with Kleenex and a thermos full of Earl Grey.

Kanaya attempts to pretend that she didn't spend the last 30 minutes throwing knickknacks into closets and turning around the “Danger: Twerking Zone” pillows that Karkat gave her in last year’s giftswap. Her apartment isn't terribly cluttered, but she’s still breathing heavy from the effort of hauling a partially-clothed mannequin from the tiny living room to the spare bedroom. Everything seems to be in order, but for-

_ Damn it!  _ Bolts of fabric are still stacked precariously beside the couch. She’ll just have to live with it. 

“Here, you take the remote.”

“Gracious of you.”

Kanaya aims a wry smile at her, and Rose sticks her tongue out in reply.

A surprised giggle shakes its way out of Kanaya.

When her sniffly date suggests they wa t ch  Pride and Prejudice and Zombies , who is Kanaya to begrudge her? She figures that all she’ll have to do when discussing it with Karkat is refrain from adding ‘and Zombies’ to the end of every sentence. 

Rose drops her bag next to the fabric and settles back on the cushions beside her as the opening scores begin to play. 

The only drawback of the film is that the addition of zombies really cannot be understated, which makes Kanaya feel as though she’s going to have a hard time giving Karkat the summary he will now doubt request. Other that miniscule drawback, it’s an excellent movie. Kanaya adores the fighting, and both she and Rose agree that the man chosen for Mr. Darcy has not a drop of attractive blood in him. 

“I may be gay, but I am in no way blind,” Kanaya says, and Rose snorts.

“His voice is just as awful as his features,” she snarks.

The best part is, she’s not wrong. 

“Those dresses are gorgeous,” Kanaya sighs halfway through, wistful and awed by the sight of such brilliant costume design.

“I prefer your work,” Rose says, and her voice is impossibly stuffy and Kanaya can hear her scrabbling for a tissue on the carpeted floor and she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed anything sweeter in her life.

Rose takes her hand after a jump-scare and doesn’t relinquish it until the credits roll. Somewhere in the middle of the movie she lets out the tiniest of shivers, and her head drifts onto Kanaya’s shoulder.

Her breath smells like watermelon cough drops. Kanaya tries valiantly to keep her composure.

“Rose.”

“Hm?”

“Are you falling asleep?”

“If I was, I doubt I’d be able to answer you this coherently,” Rose murmurs, and Kanaya is amazed at her cheekiness, prevalent even at the edge of sleep.

By the time the movie draws to a close, the entire apartment is painted in shades of blue and black. 

Rose rises, cheek pillow-creased and hair flat on one side from its press against Kanaya’s shoulder.

“Do you need a ride home?” Kanaya offers, but it’s mostly pretense because she has no idea where Rose lives, nor does her following yawn make her sound all that qualified for driving. Rose shakes her head.

“Until next time,” she says, and disappears out the door.

*****

A week before Christmas, Rose spreads her deck of tarot cards before Kanaya in a shimmering arc. 

“I didn't know you could read,” she remarks, ignoring the nervous curl in her gut at the sight of them. Rose’s dabblings in the arcane have only grown more apparent to her since their first meeting. 

_ “ _ Kanaya, darling, we’ve been swapping books since November! You must think me charmingly devoted to illiteracy.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” 

Rose’s teeth flash into a beam.

“But yes, I do read the tarot.”

“Isn't that a bit risky to do here?” She elaborates at Rose’s quirked eyebrow. “In a crowded place? With all these people here to watch?”

“Do I detect a hint of superstition, Miss Maryam?”

“Do you believe that toying with eldritch forces far out of your control will come without repercussions?”

“Life is far out of my control. Now, will you consent to a reading or not?”

Kanaya purses her lips.

“Can I tempt you to draw but one card?” Rose teases. Kanaya purses her lips. One card, perhaps, is too insignificant to summon Satan himself.  Rose could probably handle a lesser minion. 

“After you.”

“Of course.”

Their hands brush as they each choose a card, Kanaya leagues more skeptically than Rose. She lingers over the edge of the deck, then tugs one from the center and flips it promptly. The Queen of Cups stares back at her.

“Intriguing.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, I always wind up with the same card, one way or another.”

Rose’s fingers rest on a card marked the High Priestess. 

“Vris! That flighty broad of Kanaya’s is doing dark magic all over the pansies!  _ Again! _ ” Eridan gripes.

“Ask her if she can summon something to destroy them for good,” calls Karkat. “If she’s at a loss, I think some of that god-awful wheatgrass should do fine.”

The pansies are Feferi’s babies, and Eridan treats them accordingly. The purple one that Rose is currently ‘accostin’ with evil forces’ is named Orphaner Dualscar. 

“That last time was not dark magic, merely a mix-up with my Latin textbook and a packet of salt,” Rose insists.

“It looked pretty fuckin’ occultish to me. And what about the time with the mirror?”

“I keep telling you, it shattered of its own accord. I had nothing to do with that.”

“That’s not how science w-works!” Eridan exclaims, his old wobble resurfacing as he works himself up. Rose’s eyes slide to Kanaya’s. They share a ‘are you seeing this’ look. The only difference in their expressions is that Kanaya doesn’t start grinning until she meets Rose’s eyes. “This is ridiculous, we can't have a witch in our coffee shop! Magic ain't real, but I don't like whatever esoteric bullshit you’re cookin’ up. I’m givin’ you one last chance to get out before I call Kar - I mean,  _ security _ .”

Rose rolls her eyes, but stands up and begins to gather her things all the same. 

“I think we’ve really made some progress here today, Miss Maryam,” Rose states. Her arms are wrapped around her laptop, and both bags slung over her shoulder are filled to bursting. Kanaya adjusts the one filled with yarn before her thought process can revert her to a blithering idiot again.

“One can only hope,” she replies.

“Tomorrow, Miss Maryam?” 

Kanaya grins.

“I’ll be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve never seen the real Pride and Prejudice, and I doubt Kanaya would pass up an opportunity to see girls in period dress mercilessly dismember things.
> 
> (If you didn't get the Abraham Lincoln thing, he apparently once walked like 6 miles to return someone's change when he overcharged them)


	3. Steeped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thrilling conclusion.

“Feferi, what exactly is in that thing?”

“Mostly soda,” she replies sweetly. “A little coconut rum. Want a taste?”

Kanaya eyes the electric pink beverage Feferi is brandishing with a healthy dose of apprehension. The crowd of multicolored bottles jumbled on Vriska’s counter is interspersed with odds and ends: a 2 liter bottle of Redpop here - no doubt at Terezi’s request, a handful of rainbow silly straws there. Tropical brews, however, are notably absent, forcing Kanaya to the conclusion that Feferi has dipped into a private stash. If that is indeed the case, Kanaya would much rather take Feferi’s word for it.

“No, I’m quite alright. Thank you for offering.”

Feferi shrugs, bats her petal-pink falsies beneath her bubble-eyed glasses, and takes an unflinching sip.

“Coconut ain’t even Christmas-themed!” Eridan butts in, though his hands reach for Feferi’s drink as he says it.

“Shut up and drink your alcohol,” Karkat grumps.

Eridan keeps talking, but manages to accomplish one of those tasks.

The annual Christmas party takes place at Vriska’s shared townhouse, primarily because she’s the boss and secondarily because all the rest of them live in tiny apartments - excepting Feferi and Eridan, who share a condo in the “Quieter Living” area of Fishtown. Kanaya wouldn't bother going unless she felt an obligation to Karkat, Vriska, Feferi, and, yes, literally everyone she works with except Eridan. Regardless of how it begins, the night always degenerates into carousing. Kanaya enjoys a good fête as much as the next person, but there is nothing enjoyable about preventing a drunken fistfight between Eridan and Vriska at 3 AM.

The theme this year is “glitter”, something that both Feferi have Eridan embraced wholeheartedly. Feferi’s eyes are rimmed in gilded sparkles, while Eridan appears to have swapped his usual hair gel for silver shimmer spray, as the majority of the spray’s contents is streaked across his hands. He keeps leaving tracks of twinkles across the couch cushions.

On their own, the two might be taken for festive. Together, they are nothing short of an eyesore. To further fuel the flames of such madness, without dates here to break up the usual crowd, they are practically joined at the hip.

Well, there is one date, but she lives here regardless. She’s also dressed in a red so blinding as to rival the gingery color of her hair. The clash is painful, to the point that Kanaya’s first impression is that Terezi is attempting to make the rest of them as blind as she is. Vriska looks downright tame by her side. Admittedly, Vriska  looks fairly subtle tonight, for Vriska. She’s clad in a clingy sequined dress the same cerulean color as much of her apartment. According to Eridan, it ‘highlights all two a’ her curves.’

Kanaya would like to have Rose here. They used to be able to bring dates, but Eridan hates Feferi’s boyfriend, Karkat hates his own, and, again, Terezi lives at Vriska’s anyway.

By 12:30, they’re all jumbled together on the crummy fold-out couch, Terezi on one end and Karkat on the other.

“I can't believe I’ve been working at this place for 3 years,” Karkat groans contentiously. His curls are a wreck, as usual, and Kanaya combs through them absently as she listens to him gripe. “I mean, what a shithole! I thought I’d at least have a programming degree by now.” He sighs, and picks at a loose thread on his “Let’s Get Lit” Hanukkah sweater.

“Personally, I can't believe it still has the same stupid name,” Eridan chimes in, his head lolling onto Feferi’s shoulder. “Who names a start-up after their pet tarantula?”

A ripple of laughter goes through the group, though Vriska’s supervillain cackle is notably absent.

“I can't believe Vriska and Kanaya were dating when the whole thing started!” Feferi says, once she’s stopped giggling. Her bubblegum nails click against the sequins of her circle skirt as she reaches for Eridan’s hand. Kanaya averts her eyes once she begins to play with his rings. Eridan and Feferi haven't been romantically involved in a long time, but occasionally their platonic displays are so tender that she has to look away to avoid feeling awkward.

“Yeah, well,” Vriska says. She’s mellow from cheap champagne and laughing at Eridan screwing around with peppermint schnapps. “Things change. Kanaya’s busy with another lady now.”

“Oh, please. I am not ‘busy’!” Kanaya protests hotly.

“I bet you wish you were,” Eridan snickers. Kanaya wishes she could drive an elbow through his execrable ribs, but Feferi’s between them and besides, she doesn’t really want to touch him. Truly, Eridan Ampora remains the nadir of humanity.

“I’d go out with Rose,” Feferi offers. “She’s pretty and seems nice.”

Eridan's lip curls.

“Fef, can you quit bein’ so fuckin’ pansexual for two flips of a fishtail?”

“Sounds like someone has a case of blue jingleballs,” Karkat mutters.

“Not to mention uncalled-for nautical references,” Terezi adds.

“Oh, shut it,” Eridan grumbles. “Anyone want to do shots?”

“ _No,_ ” Kanaya says at the precise moment Karkat says “Fuck it, why not.”

He must be really not enjoying himself, because Karkat is definitely too short to be consuming that much alcohol.

As she disinterestedly watches Karkat drink his way to alcohol poisoning, her mind wanders to Rose, not 10 minutes away in Powelton Village. She lives in the historic district, in a dinky apartment divided amongst three friends. She’d mentioned she planned a quiet night, but from what bites of conversation Kanaya had been able to steal between the holiday rush, she’d deduced that Rose’s friends were probably up to something. It’s just as well, because Saturdays are Chinese nights in the Stri-Londe-Harley-Bert household. She doesn’t know an abundance about John, Dave, and Jade, other than their Panda Garden orders.

Dave was evicted from his last apartment on the claim of a disturbance to the peace, and thus sleeps on the living room futon. He wears silly socks and is constantly leaving them places, much to Rose’s chagrin. He also enjoys ranting about how Drake “looks like he cries after sex, what is that guy’s fuckin’ deal?” Kanaya doesn’t care much for  Drake. Is he not the same as that Fetty Wap artist?

Jade is a biochem major. Her bright green eyes make her look as though she’s been exposed to an inordinate amount of radioactivity. Her gigantic, white German Shepherd, Becquerel, is often blamed for impossible things, such as moving pumpkins, catching bullets, and altering time and space so as to never be caught eating Dave’s Chucks.

John...is evil? Rose has told her that he plays a lot of pranks, and he certainly had a mischievous glint in his eye the last time she watched him slip a fake spider into Dave’s lo mein. Kanaya thinks him harmless enough, even if he does things like lug his keyboard into the living room in the middle of the night and play Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up loud enough to wake the dead.

She’s just starting to wonder whether or not she can politely sneak out of here in time to catch the end of Con Air when Eridan wobbles to his feet.

“Hey, guys, I forgot to tell you!” he proclaims, fingers fiddling with the faux-gold buttons of his heinous purple vest. He is largely ignored, both due to the intoxication of the party at large, not to mention everyone’s outstanding reluctance to play witness to another of his routine jeremiads.  

“What?” Karkat replies, miffed at Eridan for walking out in the middle of a two-man game of Never Have I Ever.

“I have gotten my big break.” He says ‘big break’ the way Rose says ‘cryptesthesia,’ like he can barely contain his excitement enough to vocalize it properly.

“Wait, _what_?” Vriska’s head pops off Terezi’s lap. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I got the part of Aaron Burr in a Broadway production of Hamilton!”

Karkat’s frustrated scream is muffled by the couch cushion he shoves his face into.

“Are you _shitting_ me?”

“Uh, no. I know you’re all gonna miss me a lot, but-”

“Someone take him home, I’ve never seen him this drunk,” Terezi rasps.

“There _was_ that one time two summers ago, you know, with all the whipped cream-” Kanaya offers, but Eridan barrels on before she can finish.

“No, I’m totally serious! You can ask Fef, she was with me when I got the email.”

“So, what, you’re quitting?” Vriska snickers. Eridan’s immediate retort shreds any possibility of the words being a joke.

“Yeah, that’s kinda the whole point of this entire conversation! I can’t balance practice and pressing beans. To use the words of Gabriella Montez, I gotta go my own way.”

“What?” Kanaya asks, suddenly feeling completely lost.

“High School Musical 2,” Feferi sniffs. “He has to go to New York.”

Vriska looks mildly nauseated, though by the High School Musical reference or the thought of Eridan with actual life goals, Kanaya can’t tell. Whatever the case, she rolls off the couch, onto the floor, and trudges wordlessly towards the drink station.

It is in this way that Vriska joins Karkat and Eridan by the vodka and turns something fun into a competition. Impressively, she still has the clarity of mind to end up sprawled across Kanaya’s lap, groaning about finding someone to replace Eridan.

"What about your girlfriend? Violet, or whatever her name is," Vriska suggests, voice stinging with a lazy bitterness that does not escape Kanaya’s notice.

"Rose," Kanaya corrects, "And I believe she has bigger aspirations than working in a coffee shop full of, to put it bluntly, Neanderthals."

Kanaya slinks out of Vriska’s apartment at 2:15, after helping Karkat haul Feferi into the guest bedroom and Eridan off of the dining room table, respectively.

Eridan’s last day of work is two weeks from that Monday, but he comes in the following Tuesday to bid some final farewells.

As a parting gift, Rose knits him royal purple mittens to match the streak in his hair.

“Completely free of sorcery, I promise. Though I’m sure that could be modified in a pinch.” Eridan sniffs, but ‘graciously’ accepts them.

“Well guys,” he begins, in the grim voice of a general heading off to an integral battle alone. “This is it. My last moments in the place of my humble beginnings before I head off to stardom. It’s been a good run.” His gaze sweeps their stoic faces. “Vris, you were a shitty boss.”

Vriska shrugs noncommittally.

“Kan, I am genuinely terrified a’ you.”

Kanaya rolls her eyes. He hurriedly moves on.

“Fef, you are _the best friend a guy could ever ask for._ You’ve lit up my days. All of my days. Unfortunately, none of my nights. At least not since, like, college?”

“Eridan!” Feferi chides, but there are tears in her eyes. Karkat shuffles uncomfortably, most likely trying to pretend that Eridan didn’t actively just attempt to discuss he and Feferi’s past sex life.

Eridan must notice, because his next remark is

“Kar, fuck you in particular.”

Karkat grunts, a noise that could be interpreted as anything from discomfort to grudging approval.

“And you, stoner guy,” Eridan announces, whirling around to face his final victim. His ring-striped finger lands dead-center on Gamzee’s sternum. “Good luck in hell.”

With that, he sweeps the edge of his scarf over one shoulder and exits.

One would think that after working here for so long, he would be able to tell the difference between the door that led to the outside exit and the one led to the men’s room.

“Hey, crotchmunch!” Karkat calls, and Eridan scurries off in the right direction with his face glowing crimson.

“Bye guys!” he shouts over his shoulder and then, _finally_ , he is gone.

“It’s not going to be the same without him here, huh guys?” Feferi sniffs.

“It’s gonna be a whole lot less horrible,” Karkat growls, but Kanaya thinks she sees a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his scowl.

“I do not think it presumptuous to say that his absence will not negatively affect the work environment,” she adds. “Good riddance to bad rubbish, as my mother used to say.”

“Yeah, I don’t give a shit he’s gone either,” Vriska drawls.

“Ever wonder what your own nose smells like?” Gamzee interrupts. He is met with dead silence.

“Uh-” Feferi starts, but Karkat puts an arm out and shushes her.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Just don’t.” She nods rapidly.

Kanaya needs to get out of this town.

An opportunity to do just that springs up a few months later, after all the snow has melted and Feferi redyes her hair the dusky pink of a conch shell’s inside.

It comes in the form of a high pitched “ping!” and the appearance of a tiny blue notification on her gmail account.

 _Dear Miss Maryam,_ reads the spoiler, and at first, she thinks that it must be another tongue-in-cheek note from Rose about seances happening downtown. Her eyes flit to the sending address, expecting to see Rose’s familiar tentacleTherapist tag. Her heart slams into her ribcage when she realizes that the address reads [ admissions@dofd.org ](mailto:admissions@dofd.org)

She submitted her portfolio to Drexel’s Fine Arts academy four days after Christmas, but between coffeehouse drama and the new addition of Rose to her life, the application has completely slipped her mind.

She opens the email with trembling hands, the silver rings on her fingers clacking against the keyboard.

_Dear Miss Maryam,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Drexel University’s Masters of Fashion Design program._

_After reviewing your application, design portfolio, and all supporting documents, we have determined that you would be an excellent candidate to carry on Drexel University’s noble tradition._

_Attached to this letter you will find a full admissions package, along with specific information on how to accept this offer. We ask that you respond within 4 weeks, as there are many other candidates vying for unaccepted spots._

_Once again, congratulations. We hope to hear from you soon!_

_Sincerely,_

_Drexel University Admissions_

Kanaya rereads the letter, then checks the sending address a third time, just in case this has all been one big mixup or, at the very least, an incredibly premature April Fool’s prank.

Once she gets over her initial shock, she pesters Rose.

 

\-- grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 11:03--

 

GA: Rose

GA: Rose Guess What

TT: What could I possibly be guessing at?

GA: No See You're Supposed To Say What

TT: Fair enough. What?

GA: I Was Accepted Into Drexel Universitys Masters Program!

GA: They Reviewed My Portfolio And I Suppose They Really Enjoyed It

TT: Kanaya, that’s wonderful!

GA: I Am Admittedly Quite Pleased

GA: I Was Worried That They Would Not Find My Work As Bewitching As You Do

TT: This calls for a celebration!

TT: And do you know what they say about celebrations?

GA: What Is It They Say

TT: Celebrations call for vodka, my dear Miss Maryam.

GA: Isnt It A Bit Early In The Day For That

TT: It’s five o’clock somewhere?

GA: No Rose

GA: No Jimmy Buffett

GA: Also Vodka Calls For Headaches

GA: And From My Experience Regret

TT: Perhaps this celebration calls for sparkling cider, then?

GA: I Think That Would Be Appropriate

TT: I can meet you in Rittenhouse Square in 20 minutes, if that would be suitable.

GA: I Will Bring Watermelon

TT: Excellent.

 

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] at 11:15--

By the time Kanaya finds her, Rose is already spread out on a faded quilt in shades of purple, blue, red, and green.

“Took you long enough, Miss Maryam,” she teases. Their elbows bump as she settles down beside her on the blanket.

Rose’s sundress is long and black, but she impressively manages to look as though she’s heading to do trendy witchcraft instead of making her way to a funeral.

“I _was_ a bit busy attempting to lug half a watermelon through the streets of Philadelphia,” Kanaya replies. Her own sundress is streaked with sticky juice, thanks to said melon.

“You _were_ the one who offered to bring it,” Rose insists.

“Yes, well…” Kanaya replies, making no attempt to defend herself. Rose laughs, soft and hiccupy.

Her hand brushes Kanaya’s in its journey to unwrap the offending melon, a detail that only adds to the rush of jittery excitement building somewhere below her ribs.

Something draws her eyes to Rose’s lips, where a trickle of watermelon juice is winding from the corner of her mouth to her chin.

“Rose, you’ve got a little…” she attempts. Rose raises one eyebrow and gestures at her sundress. Her lips are parted ever-so-slightly, a common look for her. Rose always appears as though she has something more to say, just on the tip of her tongue.

“No, I’ve got it,” Kanaya insists, stomach swirling with butterflies. Her breath catches in her throat. She leans forward and carefully, hesitantly, presses her lips to Rose’s.

Her own heartbeat is so loud in her ears that she can no longer make out the bustle of cars along the adjacent street. Rose’s hands flutter, then settle at her sides. She feels about twelve.

She smells like Moroccan Oil and grape Chapstick and something else Kanaya can’t quite place. Candle wax, maybe?

Her lips come away slightly glossy, and Rose grins at her.

“I was wondering when you were finally going to make a move.”

“Oh, please,” Kanaya tries to scoff, but it’s hard to catch her breath when she’s smiling this broadly, not to mention beginning to laugh this hard.

It is in this way that Kanaya finds herself dating Rose Lalonde, for a variety of reasons, chiefly among them being that there is no other way to get her off her mind. Rose’s psychology stints remain as interesting as they were the first time Kanaya spoke to her, though their sessions now seem to consist less of thought and more of clambering for kisses. It reminds her of nothing else she’s ever experienced - Rose is an unsurpassable enigma - which is another reason that she welcomes into her life the leviathan of a girl who has been lighting it up for the past 6 months unawares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't heard PhemieC’s “Leviathan the Girl,” you’re missing out big time.


End file.
